Different
by atheneblue
Summary: Julia explores the boundaries of her feelings for Marlowe Sawyer.  Unfortunately for Marlowe, she does it with him present.  Rated M for sexual language.  And boobies.


A/N: I hate Nip/Tuck. Honestly. But Peter-Dinklage-sexy-tiems can convince me to suffer though a lot of vapid melodrama.

So: season four, ep 9 ("Liz Cruz"). This scene happens AFTER Julia and Marlowe kiss and go on a pseudo-date but call things off based on, as Marlowe thinks, his dwarfism. It happens BEFORE his consultation with Dr. McNamara about undergoing leg-lengthening (ew) and the subsequent kiss-and-cut-to-post-sex-snuggling in Marlowe's supercool artsy loft.

I do not own these characters, or in fact anything associated with Nip/Tuck. Thankfully.

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Julia followed the sounds of running water and Marlowe's soft baritone. Running one hand through her long blonde hair, she sighed and leaned against the frame of the bathroom door. She watched the nurse laving water over her son's shoulders and back; he was careful to avoid the infant's swollen hand and the pins that transfixed it. Meanwhile Conor was batting at the warm water rushing out of the tap with his good hand, apparently happy to sit propped in the small bathing tub while Marlowe washed him. The nurse had stripped off his button-down shirt, which now lay in a pile on top of the toilet lid; a dark tank-top embraced his compact torso. Julia cocked her head, surveying the unfamiliar curves of the man's bare arms. A sensation she could not fully identify uncurled in her belly.

It took Julia a moment to discern the tune the man was singing to her son.

"My name is Sue. How do you do. Now you're gonna die!" Marlowe crooned, pulling a silly face at his audience of one. The baby grinned toothlessly and grunted out a laugh.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a very odd sense of the appropriate?"

The man turned his face up and flashed her one of his wry smiles. He did not seem surprised to see her there. A suddenly vigorous splash from Conor threw up a fine spray of water onto Marlowe's cheek. He wiped his face with the back of his thick forearm and indicated the child with a shake of his dark forelock. "The fruit of your loins shat a prodigious amount during his nap," he commented with his characteristically precise syllables. "And then wriggled."

Julia's mouth twitched in a repressed smile.

"I think it's just the meds upsetting his stomach," Marlowe added, his tone eagerly reassuring. "You might consider mixing a little mash into his milk in a bottle before he gets his next dose of the Cipro. Seeing how Dr. McNamara brought out the big antibiotic guns."

She ignored the veiled disapproval in this last comment. The nurse had made no secret of his distaste for the reconstructive surgery Sean had performed on Conor's tiny hand. She sat down on the edge of the tub and stroked her son's damp hair. Her knee rubbed against Marlowe's shoulder as he shifted the baby into a different posture, and the heat of his skin burned through the cotton of her leggings. She relished the man's obviously heightened awareness of her proximity. His eyes seemed to flare wider than usual. He licked his lips. Julia had the decency to blush at the memory of the taste of his kiss. Well, kisses.

Suddenly her attention was attracted by an angry bruise that marred the angle between his neck and shoulder. Startled laughter bubbled out, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle it. Marlowe looked up and raised his expressive eyebrows.

"Gilda or Rosie?" she managed, giggling.

"Beg pardon?" Confusion and wariness battled on his face.

Julia reached out to smooth the hickey with her fingers. He stiffened at her touch. Playfully, she leaned down to whisper, "Is this from Gilda or Rosie?" Her lips brushed the shell of his ear.

Marlowe stared fixedly at Conor, tongue running around the inside of his lower jaw in a tic that Julia recognized. She rubbed her nose softly against his sideburn. Sighing, he turned his face to meet hers. She met the bold gaze of his dark blue eyes but found his expression unreadable.

"You jealous?" he whispered.

Pursing her lips, Julia sat back. She looked down at her son, then leaned deliberately across the nurse to reach down a towel from the rack. Her breasts, pendulous with milk, brushed against his face. The bristles of his beard grazed her nipples through her blouse. Her round, cornflower-blue eyes fixed him unapologetically as she sat back down. He was chewing the inside of his cheek. She reached into the tub and plucked her son from Marlowe's grasp, bundling him into the towel, careful of his bad hand. She cooed at him as she cuddled him into her lap. Marlowe watched her unbuttoning her blouse.

"Gilda, actually," he answered, finding his voice at last. "Rosie's in New York on a buying trip."

Julia nodded absently while she shifted Conor's weight. Her face registered just enough interest to demonstrate her complete indifference. She exhaled heavily when Conor latched onto her nipple. Marlowe shook his head and heaved himself up onto the toilet lid, drawing his shirt into his lap. The heels of his hands rubbed nervously along his thighs. Julia toyed for a moment with the edge of her blouse until, at last, her slim fingers unbuttoned it completely and unfastened the clasp on her nursing bra, baring her other breast fully to the man's view. Marlowe rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Conor's lips gave a loud smack.

"The trouble with Gilda," the nurse began conversationally, "is that she likes to make love sitting on my lap with her legs wrapped around my waist, and somehow she always ends up biting and sucking on my neck. She's not comfortable making a lot of noise during climax, so I guess it's some kind of replacement behavior for moaning. I don't know." He stood and began to put on his shirt. Julia watched him with apparent equanimity, although in truth she was disappointed to see him cover himself up. She fought back an irrational urge to tug the shirt back off of him. "Anyway, the female superior position isn't ideal for our proportionalities, but, fortunately, she's petite." Marlowe leaned down until his face was even with Julia's. He did not have to lean far. "Of course, she's still taller than me." He paused. "Julia."

"Yes, Marlowe?"

"A married woman, for whom I have very strong feelings, shares that she has feelings for me too. But, as she so pointedly reminds me, she has a husband. Then, in relatively short order, she exposes her breasts to me. There are very few conclusions I can draw from this."

She favored him with a look of polite query.

"I think you're fascinated by me, Julia. By my body, that is. I think you lie awake at night and wonder what it would be like if you and I made love. You wonder about what my body is really like. My penis. What positions would work, or not. If you would be fulfilled by our lovemaking."

He was somewhat flabbergasted when she beamed at him and laughed softly. "That's one of the things I treasure about you, you know. You say what you mean and mean what you say. Always." She looked down at Conor, hesitating. After a moment, she spoke again: "The other night Sean and I were making love, and I was-"

Marlowe put up a hand, wincing as if he had been slapped.

"What's bothering you?" she asked softly. "The idea of Sean making love to me, or the knowledge that I was thinking of _you_ while he was doing it?"

The dark-haired man reached out with the hand he had raised and placed his palm on the bare skin of her chest, just over her heart. His touch was neither invasive nor possessive; nevertheless it excited her. She looked down at his hand, at his rough brown skin against her fair breast. She thought of his hands drawing and sketching and painting. She pictured this petite woman: Gilda, a ballet dancer, of all things, curled in his bed, watching him create his art, as Julia herself had so often watched him from the comforting embrace of the nursery rocking chair while he populated the Garden of Eden.

Julia covered his hand with her own. "I want you to stay with us. With Conor and me. I'm lost without you. I need you."

He closed his eyes, grimacing "Say it again," he demanded gruffly.

"Marlowe." Her voice quavered, somewhere between a sigh and a whine. "I need you."

Suddenly the front door slammed, and Julia's heart jumped in her chest. Marlowe's eyes flew open.

"Mom?" Annie called from the downstairs hallway.

"Marlowe-" Julia whispered urgently, but the nurse interrupted her by raising her hand to his lips. His beard was rough against her fingers as he kissed them one by one. Then he released her hand and began to back out of the bathroom.

"'Thy worth, sweet friend, is far above my gifts. / And, therefore, to equal it, receive my heart.'"

She made a face at his words. "If things were different..." she breathed.

Marlowe stared down at his feet for a moment. Resolution hardened his face when he met her gaze again. "Things _can_ be different," he assured her. "Just trust me. I'll take care of this."

"What do you-"

But he was already gone.

ooooooOOOOOOOoooooo

A/N: I set out originally to write one of my usual lemon/limes, but out came what you have just read, basically a sexually-charged character study. I may add a lemony chapter, or I may leave this a one-shot...

Marlowe's serenade to Conor is, of course, "A Boy Named Sue" (written by Shel Silverstein and made popular by Johnny Cash). The lines of iambic pentameter that Marlowe quotes are from "Edward II" by Christopher...Marlowe. ;) -ab


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